Thrashlar clung to the dark branches, high in the tree-top
canopy. His yellow-tinged eyes stared with loathing at the figures that
moved along the twisting path far below. Dark Elves. He hated Dark Elves,
as he hated all things, living and dead. Their very existence seemed
to mock him, taunting him for all that he had lost. He despised his
own twisted form, and cursed the long-departed soul of his creator for
making him become this malformed, fearful creature. He noticed that
the Dark Elves had a group of human prisoners, chained together like
animals as they were led through the trees. Thrashlar felt his insatiable
hunger pull at him from the very core of his being – he would feast
well this night.

* * * * *

The grey-bearded man fell heavily to the ground. He
lay still on the wet, black soil of the forest floor, breathing heavily.
His chest ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the despair that
he felt inside himself. It mingled with the overwhelming rage that burned
through his very being.

He was roughly dragged to his feet as the chain clasped
around his neck was yanked into the air. He opened his swollen eyes,
staring straight into the cruel, reflective eyes of his captor as he
gasped for air. The sharp-featured face grinned wickedly at him.

"Don’t struggle. You’ll like it where we’re going."

The callous figure said something sharp in his evil-sounding
tongue, and its companions nearby laughed cruelly at the words. The
old man riled at the cynical tone in their voices, and he longed to
throttle the Dark Elf with powerful hands, snapping its delicate neck
in hatred. But he knew that he was powerless against them, and he felt
so tired. So tired. He was pulled along by the Dark Elf corsairs, just
one in a long line of captives that were joined together in a twisting
procession that made its way through the trees. Rain fell heavily on
the forest canopy far above, dripping down through the branches onto
the miserable parade below.

Kir-Kaanath smiled quietly to himself as he drew his
heavy, black scaled cloak further around his shoulders. His men had
captured twenty four humans in their lightning raid, a fair bounty by
any standards, losing none of his own men in the process. Many of the
human guards had fallen before they had even realised they were under
attack. Some of them were a bit old though, he thought. He might have
to kill them, but no matter. There were some hardy-looking men amongst
those he had captured, and he was certain that they would prove to be
good workers.

He shouted to his men to hurry up. He was anxious to
get the captives back to the Black Ark so that he could return and join
in the raid that was already underway at the nearby village. Khaine
looked favourably on him tonight, he thought, images of glory filling
his twisted mind.

Kir-Kaanath jumped down to the cool, white sand as he
left the dense cover of the trees. Despite the rain that poured down
through the darkness, he could see the dark shape of the Black Ark looming
on the horizon out to sea. Turning, he once again shouted impatiently
at his men.

A muffled cry could be heard, followed by a distinctive
sound – crossbows being fired. Kir-Kaanath swore. If his men were killing
the prisoners...

He slid his twin longswords from their sheaths and leapt
back up into the trees. The Dark Elves at the back of the line were
shouting to each other, and the sounds of crossbows firing continued.
The prisoners were wailing, and another sound could be heard through
the cacophony, a bestial cry as crossbow bolts struck home.

The prisoners were looking around them into the darkness,
their eyes wide with fright. Kir-Kaanath shoved the first prisoners
to the ground roughly, trying frantically to see what was going on at
the back of the line.

The old, grey-bearded man lay on the ground as the Dark
Elves shouted and ran around him in confusion. A rescue! He gripped
the heavy chain tightly in his hands, waiting for a chance to make his
move, to aid his rescuers, whoever they may be.

Twisted shapes leapt from the undergrowth, latching
onto Dark Elf limbs with sinewy, taloned arms. The Dark Elves recoiled
in horrified disgust, hacking frantically at them with their weapons.
Kir-Kaanath recognised the loathsome foulness of the creatures.

Ghouls! They were filthy, near-naked creatures who fed
on flesh, living or dead, their depraved forms twisted into horrid parodies
of men. Kir-Kaanath swore as he saw the ghouls ripping through his troops,
their bestial faces twisted into hideous masks of hatred. He saw one
of the foul creatures bite a chunk of flesh from the face of a corsair,
who screamed, recoiling in horror.

Reversing the grip on his swords, Kir-Kaanath struck
them point first into the moist soil, drawing his repeater crossbow
in a fluid motion. He fired dark bolts into the back of the foul creature,
which was knocked to the ground under the force of their impact. It
thrashed around in the mud, trying frantically to dislodge the wicked
bolts from its hunched back. Its struggles were ended abruptly as one
of his men hacked into its neck with a vicious blow.

Pulling his swords from the ground, Kir-Kaanath leapt
amongst the twisted ghouls, his blades weaving a delicate, bloody dance.
He ducked beneath the wild slashing arms of one of the foul creatures,
its evil, filth-encrusted claws passing harmlessly over him. Thrusting
upwards, he ran his sword through the body of the twisted creature.
As it fell, he ripped his blade free of the deformed creature and swung
the blade upwards to parry a wild attack from another ghoul, his barbed
weapon cutting deeply into the creature’s arm.

Simultaneously, he slashed his other curved blade across
the creature’s shrunken abdomen, disembowelling it.

A large, dark shape suddenly dropped like a stone from
the twisted branches above. As it fell it spread its long, muscular
arms, and a thin membrane of skin was unfurled, acting as primitive
wings, slowing its descent. The beast-like figure landed on all four
limbs in the very midst of the swarming conflict. The ghouls, apparently
encouraged by the sight of this unnatural creature, redoubled their
attacks on the Dark Elves.

The foul monstrosity was immense, bulging with over-developed
muscles that rippled over its form as it raised itself to its hind legs.
It lifted its bestial head, teeth the size of a man’s thumb jutting
from its snarling mouth and its long dead eyes were filled with a burning,
red hatred as they looked around at the Dark Elves and their human captives.
The smell of the creature was unimaginable, the reek of dead flesh overcoming
the Dark Elves’ senses. Kir-Kaanath recognised the foul creature. He
had heard rumours of such loathsome beings, scorned by their unliving
brethren, hunted wherever they were to be found.

‘Vampyros. Strigoi’, the Dark Elf whispered.

The foul monstrosity heard the whisper despite the distance
between them, and turned its baleful gaze towards Kir-Kaanath. It bowed
its hulking form into a mocking bow in response.

Kir-Kaanath sneered at the deranged creature, knowing
that his death was near, but feeling only a rising anger and contempt
at the thought. He dropped into a fighting crouch, his barbed weapons
held loosely before him. He wanted to bleed this creature, wanted to
see its form splayed out and cut open before him. His corsairs were
being torn apart by the deformed ghouls. The twisted creatures were
falling by the dozen before the skilled Dark Elf warriors, but countless
more launched themselves out of the darkness and his men were being
overwhelmed by the sheer amount of the ferocious creatures. He could
see the foul beings crouched over his fallen men, tearing great strips
of flesh from their bodies with hideous fangs. He gripped his swords
tighter, his breathing becoming heavy as his anger grew.

With a snarl of pure hatred, the vampire dropped its
long arms to the ground and launched itself towards Kir-Kaanath in a
great leap, bounding towards the Dark Elf like some monstrous wolf-creature.
It moved with astonishing swiftness given its size, yet Kir-Kaanath
stepped eagerly to meet it. Its hellish eyes were locked onto the Dark
Elf’s, and its gaze did not waver even as a corsair stepped before it,
slicing downwards with his barbed sabre.

Without apparent thought, intent on the figure of Kir-Kaanath,
the Strigoi bowled under the strike and kept moving, nonchalantly striking
back with a huge taloned arm as it passed. The Dark Elf fell with a
scream, its side ripped open, and bright blood gushed from the horrific
wound.

Kir-Kaanath tried to side-step the thundering charge
of the Strigoi, his blades striking out towards the creature’s thick
neck. Matching his speed, the vampire stepped with him, pulling short
its rush to halt just outside the reach of the Dark Elf’s weapons. They
stood there for a moment, glowering at each other, the slender Corsair
appearing fearless of the unholy fiend that towered over him. He spun
his swords in a delicate twirl, and leapt to the attack.

The highly skilled Dark Elf moved with blinding speed,
his blades weaving together in a mesmerising, lethal blur. The bestial
Strigoi was faster still, its undead body invigorated with unholy energy.
It stepped between the spinning blades, catching hold of Kir-Kaanath’s
wrist in a crushing grip. Kir-Kaanath gasped as blood began to flow
from his wrist over the vampire’s hand. He hacked into the toughened
hide of the Strigoi with his other blade, over and over again, as the
creature stared deep into his eyes, its fanged mouth twisting into a
mocking smile.

The wounds on the creature’s back began to heal, closing
over even as they were struck. The Strigoi leant in close to Kir-Kaanath,
its fetid breath hot against his pale skin.

"You hate me, do you not, Dark Elf?" it spat. Kir-Kaanath
continued to hack into the creature’s back in desperation.

"Yes, you hate me, despise me. So, I curse you, pretty
being." The vampire leant in closer again. "Join with me. Become what
you hate so much."

The Strigoi bit deeply into the neck of the Dark Elf
who continued to struggle against him. The last of the Corsairs were
cut down around the pair, the ghouls prancing around their master as
he drained the blood of Kir-Kaanath. The Dark Elf ’s struggles became
weaker, until he was a limp form held in the Strigoi’s arms. Still the
vampire drank.

Eventually, he dropped the motionless body unceremoniously
to the ground. It flopped into the mud, pale and broken. Still, life
pulsed weakly through the Dark Elf’s body, and he stared up at the vampire
with glassy eyes.

The human prisoners looked upon their saviours in growing
horror as the sickly ghouls danced around their bounty with undisguised
glee. The monstrous Strigoi vampire Thrashlar looked upon his cavorting
followers with an evil smile on his blood-stained lips. Tonight was
a good night for the hunter, he thought.